Yesterday evening I flew home from Chicago. It has been a long, full week and I was, I admit, not the most sunshiny of travelers. I love to be other places, I am just not keen on the 'getting there' part. There were jetway issues, so as I stood at the very back of the plain--yes, the very back--and waited for the jetway, and waited for 37 rows of people to disembark, I was on autopilot. I was not looking for good in people or joy in the moment, I was pretty much picturing my dinner set before me on the coffee table with The Office on in the background. I carried that image along with my two bags down all 38 rows, up the jetway, and through the terminal, a determined, if stoic pilgrim among the masses.
And then, up ahead, a teenage guy dropped to the ground and swung his body around and around on the floor. He did the breakdancer's pose thing, then spun on his upper back and contorted his body in ways I can't imagine even trying.
It was seriously cool. It busted through the blase determination I'd erected and pulled a smile out. It's funny how one little image, one moment of art or surprise, can change everything.
Thank you, God for the unexpected blessings you drop on the airport floor even when I'm not looking for them.